


The Gift That Keeps On Giving

by SciFiDVM



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Epic fail at "25 prompts in 25 days" LJ challenge, F/M, I'm completely incapable of writing less than 300 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 10:05:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SciFiDVM/pseuds/SciFiDVM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles faces the age old Christmas question – What do you get the former dictator that had everything, and now has nothing but an unhealthy attachment to your niece?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift That Keeps On Giving

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the LJ NBC_Revolution "25 Prompts in 25 Days" prompt of “Gift”, but I epically fail at keeping a fic under 300 words, so I’m pretty sure it doesn’t count.

**Title:** The Gift that Keeps on Giving  
 **Show:** Revolution  
 **Summary:** Miles faces the age old Christmas question – What do you get the former dictator that had everything, and now has nothing but an unhealthy attachment to your niece?  
 **Spoilers:** Through 2.9 “Everybody Says I Love You”  
 **Pairings:** Charlie/Monroe kind of  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Disclaimer:** Revolution and its characters are property of NBC et al. My fanfic is purely for entertainment and I do not profit from it.   
**A/N:** Based off the LJ NBC_Revolution "25 Prompts in 25 Days" prompt of “Gift”, but I epically fail at keeping a fic under 300 words, so I’m pretty sure it doesn’t count.

 

 

“Tell me how you really feel.” Bass muttered breathily as he pinned her against the bedroom wall.

“I hate you, Monroe. You killed most of my family.”

He glared down into the blue eyes looking up at him through wavy dirty blonde hair, and felt the arousal beginning to build. He crashed his lips down on hers.

“Say it.” He commanded in the brief second he could pull his lips away from hers.

The next time he came up for air she nearly spat at him, “You’re a psychopath.”

He ground his pelvis up against hers and sucked at her neck as she added, “You’re a monster.”

And that was enough for him. He pulled her tank top over her head and roughly threw her down onto the room’s modestly sized mattress. He shucked out of his clothes in seconds and joined her on the bed. She’d already removed her jeans and underwear, and he climbed on top of her. He rubbed a hand briefly between the apex of her thighs and found it moist enough for his purposes. This encounter wasn’t exactly about the foreplay, so he positioned himself at her entrance and buried himself in a single thrust. His libido stumbled slightly when he couldn’t help but realize that the fit wasn’t exactly snug.

He closed his eyes as he kissed the young woman beneath him. Trying to keep up the fantasy was becoming more difficult. Sure she’d said the words he’d asked her to, but the tactile aspect kept threatening to pull him out of his zone. Her skin was flawless and milky and laid pristinely over a body that was made soft with luxury and proper care. He tried to imagine her skin to be sun-battered and freckled with scars stretched taught over a frame that was all muscle and sinew, toned from the last year and a half of combat.

Underneath him, she cooed and made gratified noises, touching him with smooth encouraging strokes. It was a rough juxtaposition with the violent dance and clashing of sarcastic quips that he’d always envisioned would define such an encounter. His carefully crafted illusion was fading quickly, so he hurried his way through the endeavor, just hoping to finish before he ended up so put off he lost his motivation. It was rushed and unrefined, but he ultimately pounded into the body beneath him fast and hard enough to find his release. He rolled off of her and laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling while the woman beside him cleaned herself up.

As she stepped out of the bed and pulled on a silk robe from the closet nearby, she looked down at him. “Whoever this Monroe guy is, he really did a number on you.”

“Yeah. You could say that.” Bass mumbled.

“Didn’t Texas just execute some guy named Monroe not too far back? Is it the same one? ‘Cause I’d assume that would help you with what you’re going through.” She offered, oblivious.

“I’m not paying you to psychoanalyze me.” Bass sat up and started reaching for his clothes.

She crawled back onto the bed, robe only partially fastened, and put a soft hand on his chest. “Your friend paid for the whole night for you. Why don’t you lay back and relax. I can still give you whatever you want.”

The fact was, she couldn’t give him what he wanted. But he couldn’t have what he really wanted, and that’s how he’d ended up here. Damn Miles. Damn him for knowing exactly how this would play out. This whole lurid bit of fuckery made him feel cheap and dirty like nothing ever had before.

“Thanks, but there’s somewhere I gotta be.” Bass brushed her off, quickly pulled on his clothes, and then made his way out of the brothel.

 

…..

 

EARLIER THAT NIGHT

Miles watched from nearby as the rest of their group sat around the fire. They hadn’t encountered a bit of trouble in days, and he worried that the group was starting to lose their edge. Rachel and Aaron were talking about technobabble he’d never understand, and Gene was interjecting with medically based questions about potential uses of the nanites for the good of all mankind or some nonsense. But that wasn’t the interaction that was bothering him.

On the other side of the fire he watched a sight he never, in a million years, imagined that he would see. Bass and Charlie were eating side by side and chatting about something he couldn’t hear. She was laughing at whatever he’d just said and he was grinning like the cat that ate the canary. He continued making some wild hand gestures and she nearly dropped her plate of food she was laughing so hard. As they both collected themselves, Miles didn’t miss the fact that Charlie had scooted almost imperceptibly closer to his former best friend. When Bass leaned in, whispered into her ear, and then playfully bumped his shoulder against hers, Miles couldn’t stop a growl from escaping his throat.

It was a tableau he’d seen play out a hundred times in a dozen different countries over the years. He just never expected that his womanizing little shit of a best friend would have the balls to try it on his niece, and right in front of him.

Miles walked over and plopped himself down on the ground next to Charlie. He had an impossible grin on his face as he grabbed a piece of meat off Charlie’s plate and spoke jovially, “Whatever story he’s telling you, don’t believe it.”

 “Nah. Don’t listen to him. It’s all true.” Bass looked at Charlie before turning to Miles. “I was just telling her about that time in Kandahar with the three-legged bomb sniffing dog.”

Miles remembered the story. He had never found it quite as amusing as Bass did.

“Did it really pee on your leg?” Charlie asked, eyes nearly tearing up with laughter.

“Just my boot.” Miles corrected, eyes narrowing at Bass.

Bass and Charlie did actually laugh so hard they fell over at this point.

Once they righted themselves, with no small amount of touching each other’s arms and shoulders in the process, Miles noted, he looked at his former friend and current reluctant ally. “Bass, a word?” Then he got up and walked away from the fire. He prepared his mask of facial features as he heard the other man clamber to his feet and start to follow after him. He couldn’t confront him outright. Prohibiting Bass from flirting with his young niece would only push him to do something more. There was a long and checkered history proving that Bass tended to find the more forbidden fruit to be the most tempting.

“What’s up?” Bass asked innocently as he caught up with Miles.

“Look Bass, I get it.” He tried to sound understanding. “You’ve been stuck hanging around this family for a few months now. This has got to be your longest dry spell since we were what… fifteen?”

Bass shot him a puzzled look, clearly not prepared for where this conversation was going.

“I hate to admit it, but you actually have been a huge help to us fighting the Patriots.” Miles sighed. “And I realize that it hasn’t been easy on you.” Bass looked like he was about to interject, so Miles rushed on ahead. “And so I wanted to do something for you. Call it my Christmas gift. To keep you from doing something stupid I’ll have to kill you for because you got bored or… frustrated.”

Bass still didn’t seem to understand the point of the conversation, but decided to continue to silently follow Miles to wherever it was he was leading him. After a few minutes more of traipsing through the woods, they appeared at a clearing at the edge of town. Along the far edge sat a three story Victorian style house with nearly every room illuminated, and men and scantily dressed women lounging on the front porch with bottles of liquor.

“Miles? What is this?”

“Remember your nineteenth birthday?”

He thought back for a moment. “We were on leave in Singapore, and I picked up that hot local chick in the bar just a little too easily… Miles, are you giving me a hooker for Christmas?”

“I believe they prefer the term ‘escorts’.”

“You are one sick son of a bitch.” Bass smiled at his friend as they made their way up to the house.

They might not be President Monroe and General Matheson anymore, but when the two men entered the room together, people still noticed them. Female people. It didn’t take long before the proprietor of the establishment was at their side. Content that Bass was preoccupied with the three working girls that were currently trying to gain his favor by rubbing their scantily clad nether regions against him, Miles turned his attention to the mistress of the house.

Everywhere he turned, Bass had an attractive woman vying for his attention. It was familiar and oddly comforting. He’d always had fairly prolific success with the ladies before the blackout. Then being the ruler of the northeast corner of the continent for a decade did tend to come with the associated trappings. Even being a prize fighter in New Vegas had earned him eager little groupies. But as he listened to the sirens’ songs being lavished at him, it suddenly just all felt too easy. He could have had any woman in the place, probably most without even having to pay. There was no challenge. What was the point? Wait. The point was getting laid. More importantly, what had happened to make just getting laid become something less than the entire purpose of an endeavor like this? He swallowed hard when he saw a petit young woman across the room flip her long wavy dark blonde hair over her shoulder and catch his stare with her grey-blue eyes. It wasn’t _her_ , but the resemblance was close enough to connect the synapses in his brain. Shit. It wasn’t ‘what had happened’, it was who. Had Miles realized what was going on in his own mind before he had? Is that why they were here? Of course he had. That conniving bastard.

Bass looked over to see Miles depositing a few small diamonds in the Madame’s hand, and saying something into her ear. Then they both looked over to him simultaneously. Another few words were exchanged and Miles dropped another small gem into her outstretched palm. She smiled and they shook hands.

Bass was beginning to fume as Miles walked over to him and clasped his shoulder. “Enjoy it, buddy. Try to make it back to camp before we move out tomorrow.”

He just nodded, and Miles turned and headed out the door. This apparently disappointed many of the women around Bass. As he watched Miles disappear into the night, he realized that it wasn’t really Miles he was upset with. It was himself. He was in a whorehouse. Why was he thinking about Charlotte Matheson? He didn’t think about her like _that_. Much. At least not seriously. Maybe it was just like Miles had said. He was sexually frustrated and she was the only potentially consenting female around. Sure Rachel might have been there too, but he knew his junk stood a better chance of surviving a sexual encounter with a rabid coyote than with that woman. But he couldn’t deny that there was something else to the way he saw Charlie. It mattered whether she lived or died. He’d stupidly stuck his neck out for her, when he had no good reason to, enough times now that he couldn’t deny that he cared. What he couldn’t really make heads or tails of was how he felt about her. He tried to rationalize that it was her familial ties to Miles that made him care, but that wasn’t it, or at least hadn’t been for a while. When he thought about her now there was no sense of Miles invading on whatever it was that he felt. Regardless of what he felt toward her, he was still, on some level, responsible for a whole heaping load of awful things that happened to her family. Miles’s thought that he needed to get Bass laid to prevent something from happening between them was absurd. There was no world in which Sebastian Monroe and Charlotte Matheson would ever be working out any kind of sexual frustration together. Or was there?

The petit dirty blonde he’d spotted across the foyer had made her way over to him. He gently ran a strand of her wavy hair through his fingers and leaned in to whisper in her ear, “How do you feel about roll play?”

 

…..

 

Bass had found the local tavern and spent an hour or so there before staggering drunkenly back to camp. It was the only way he’d be able to face any of them.

Miles was on watch and greeted Bass on his approach. “Back so soon?”

His only response was a rough one-handed shove to Miles’s chest as he walked past.

Bass made his way to where his bedroll had been spread out near the fire before he had been dragged away by his supposed friend. Of course Charlie had set herself up nearby and was cautiously eyeing his return.

“Where were you?” She asked as he unceremoniously pulled off his boots and climbed into the sleeping bag with his back towards her.

“Out.”

“Are you drunk?” She asked, uncertainly. “And Jesus, you smell like a whorehouse.”

“You’re quite astute, Miss Matheson.” He slurred at her, a hint of his old Presidential demeanor slipping back into his diction. He heard her shocked intake of breath and the weighted silence that followed. She might as well have just stood and given him a few quick kicks to the gut.

“Why?” Her voice sounded small and full of confusion.

He rolled over and looked straight into the soft blue eyes that he had been able to feel burrowing into the back of his head. “You really asking me why I was at a whorehouse? I figured someone already explained the birds and the bees to you a while back.” He’d said it to be hurtful, to drive her away. He didn’t need her looking at him like that, and she certainly didn’t need to know he’d just fucked some hooker pretending it was her.

“You get whatever it was you went there looking for?”

Where had that question come from? It was like she’d seen straight through him. Even Miles had never burrowed quite that deep into his psyche. More importantly, why did she care? It was high time to put an end to this line of questioning.

“I got off, she got paid. I believe that’s what’s considered a successful business transaction.”

“Then why do you look so much worse off than when you left earlier?”

Dammit. Had no one ever taught this girl when to quit? He wasn’t sure how much cruder or more obvious he could be in his attempt to brush off her questions and concern. Any normal person would be revolted by him at this point. But there she was, still looking at him with worried eyes and hell bent on teasing some little bit of humanity out of him, where he was nearly certain there was none.

That’s when he was finally able to put a label on the feelings he had about her. It was hope. Because there was no living person on this planet that he deserved compassion from less than this girl, and yet she gave it freely. She seemed determined to save whatever sad and tattered remnant of his soul that still existed. And she wouldn’t take no for an answer. He would have laughed at the attempts, found it naïve and foolhardy, if it wasn’t so obvious that whatever she did had already worked on Miles. At least as much as anything could on that self-loathing prick. His attempts to chide Miles about going soft were, if he was going to be honest with himself, more about jealousy than disgust. He had gotten the family, friendships, acceptance, and forgiveness that had been all Bass had ever really wanted. And there was no mystery as to what had started it all. Maybe she could be his salvation as well, if he gave her half a chance.

Apparently his introspective silence hadn’t been an adequate answer, and she started to roll over and turn away from him. He reached an arm out toward her shoulder to stop her, to beg her to let him try and explain, but he pulled it back just before it made contact. He didn’t deserve it. Any of it. And he certainly didn’t deserve her. He turned his back to her and punched at the rolled up jacket he was using for a pillow before stilling. The alcohol in his system overtook his aggravated mind quicker than he could have hoped for, and he was asleep in minutes.

Miles had silently watched the exchange from the tree line. A small smile began to tug at the corner of his mouth as he watched the pair turn away from each other in aggravation. It had worked.

Rachel all but silently materialized next to him. “What are you smiling about?”

“It’s always nice to see a strategy work out the way you planned.”

“Didn’t exactly take the continent’s preeminent General to figure out that dragging Bass to a brothel would put an end to Charlie’s little crush and drive a wedge between them.”

“You think that was the plan?” Miles’s smile was even more prominent.

Rachel raised an eyebrow at him questioningly. “I think I’ll leave you to your scheming.” Then she returned to her sleeping area over near her father and the wagon.

Miles enjoyed being underestimated. It was part of what made him such an effective strategist. Sure, getting Bass to bang a prostitute at least temporarily solved the problem of the growing intimacy between his friend and his niece. But he knew Bass better than he knew himself. He knew what the other man truly wanted deep down, far more than he wanted payback at Miles or a good lay. It was the same thing he’d always wanted, and it was the thing whose loss had always been enough to send him teetering and eventually hurtling over the brink. He wanted the unconditional love of a family. Bass was going to need to make some major changes if he wanted to have any hope of that, but he hadn’t been ready. Miles knew from experience, you had to hit rock bottom before you could really open yourself up to that possibility. Being executed for his crimes had put Bass nearly there, but he’d needed just one more little push. Now it looked like he was ready.

The other part of the equation really took no work at all. Shit. Charlie’d already adopted Bass like some stray mutt that had followed her home. Maggie had been right. She did have a way of saving people. She also had this way of finding those most in need of it.

So now all he had to do was sit back and let the magic happen. And maybe occasionally take a few steps to make sure that there wasn’t any kind of magic happening in anybody’s pants. Bass was still Bass, after all.

Miles couldn’t deny that the idea of having his oldest friend back in some form that he could trust had factored into his decision making. He could barely imagine what it would be like to have his brother at his side again. So maybe it was as much a Christmas present to himself as it was to Bass.

 


End file.
